


Dance With Me

by dreamiflame



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Flirting, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-24 13:38:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10742784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamiflame/pseuds/dreamiflame
Summary: Obi-Wan finds himself bored to tears at a Senate party through no fault of his own. Thankfully, Padmé Amidala, new Senator from Naboo, is also attending, and has an idea to make the night a little less boring.





	Dance With Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Perspicacia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perspicacia/gifts).



> Thanks to my beta for all his help.

Obi-Wan stifled a yawn with skills honed by years of practice. He looked around the lavishly decorated ballroom. The Senate was holding its annual welcoming celebration, so the new Senators in their first terms on Coruscant and the old incumbents could meet and mingle in a less formal setting.

Chancellor Palpatine, mindful of recent angry threats against the Senate, had petitioned the Jedi Council for a few Jedi to attend. To hopefully keep the peace had been the implication.

Somehow, Obi-Wan had found himself one of those few Jedi.

An Asogian brushed against him on its way to the refreshments table, burbling what Obi-Wan could only assume was an apology. He gave a gracious nod and stepped out of the way of its colleagues. They shuffled by in a line, following the first toward the food.

His robes were hot in the stifling room, and the plain cut of the Jedi uniform made him stand out more than the most elaborate, garish outfit worn by a Senator, an aide, or a guest. Obi-Wan felt like he was roasting, and he had seldom felt more out of place than he did now.

He really hated politics.

“Obi-Wan,” said a voice behind him, and he turned, trying to place it. Young, female, familiar…

Padmé Amidala stood there, flanked as always by a hooded woman. She was smiling, and held a hand out for him to shake.

“Your Highness,” he said, bowing over her hand instead of shaking it, then corrected himself. “No, forgive me. It’s Senator now, yes?”

Padmé nodded. “The new Queen asked me take on the role. I’m happy to serve my people in this, or any other fashion.”

Better her than him, Obi-Wan thought, but he smiled just the same. At least he could now trust at least one politician.

“Do you dance, Jedi Kenobi?” Padmé asked, and gestured to the tiny dance floor near the refreshments. A vaguely familiar song was playing, and a couple of extravagantly groomed aides were twirling around each other. Obi-Wan wondered for a moment if the elaborate trimming on their outfits would tangle together if they kept that up.

“Not generally,” he answered Padmé belatedly, “and not like that. I’m afraid I only know the most basic of Coruscant dances.”

Padmé took his hand anyway, and led him to the floor. “I can teach you a basic Naboo dance. It’s simple, and short.” She gave him a bright, full smile before she smoothed her face to politeness and moved over to the being in control of the music.

Obi-Wan was left on the side of the dance floor, feeling out of place and horribly conspicuous. This most assuredly wasn’t his area of expertise. Now, if an attack came during the party…

Padmé’s return jolted him out of wistful daydreams of attacking droid armies. “Ready?” she asked, and directed him where to put his hands on her.

“I’ll step on your feet,” he warned, and Padmé grinned at him. Then the music started, and she began instructing him in a low voice.

“Back left, right, forward left, right, back again, turn,” she chanted, and somehow, between the pressure she put on his hands and his years of saber drills, Obi-Wan found he could follow along. He probably wasn’t the most graceful dancer, but he didn’t step on Padmé, and they never collided with any of the other dancers. After a few moments, Padmé stopped chanting the steps and they moved together. Obi-Wan was almost having fun by the time the music drew to a close and he was bowing again over Padmé’s hand.

“Another?” she offered.

Stand by the wall and be bored, or dance with a friend he hadn’t seen for a while? The decision was easy. 

“All right,” Obi-Wan agreed, and Padmé taught him three more dances, building on the simple steps and patterns of the first.

By the end of the fourth dance, they were both breathing harder, and Obi-Wan tucked Padmé’s hand in his arm and led her to the refreshments. Her handmaiden was there with two glasses of some clear liquid, and Obi-Wan took his with a nod of thanks. 

“No punch?” he asked, sipping his drink (Alderaanian sparkling juice, light and refreshing).

The handmaiden tilted her head just enough for Obi-Wan to see her face: Sabé, if his memory was correct. “You wouldn’t want to drink the punch, not after what I saw the Corellian ambassador spike it with,” she said, and Padmé snorted into her glass. Sabé handed her a napkin without missing a beat, and Padmé wiped juice off her nose. “Believe me, the juice is safer.”

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said, and finished his glass. Sabé took it before he could protest and glided off to get him a refill.

“She likes you,” Padmé said. Obi-Wan lifted an eyebrow as he turned to look at her. “Sabé usually dislikes everyone, concerned over my safety. But she appreciates you, and what you and your master did, back during the invasion.”

Obi-Wan’s heart gave a familiar pang, the same one he always felt when someone mentioned Qui-Gon. “We were just doing as the Council ordered,” he said. Padmé squeezed his hand, then dropped it as Sabé returned with his glass, full again of the clear juice.

“Thank you,” he said again, and drank the second glass more slowly. The music had changed, becoming something more bouncy than the melodies he and Padmé had danced to, and Obi-Wan watched as several beings leapt and spun, singing along in a language he couldn’t place. Padmé watched with him, a smile on her face.

“Do you know that dance?” he asked, and Padmé turned sparkling eyes up to him.

“Of course. Would you like to learn?”

One of the dancers leapt particularly high, and crashed into three others as it landed, sending all four of them to the floor. The other dancers merely jumped over the obstacles, laughing and hooting.

“I don’t think so,” Obi-Wan replied, drily, and heard Sabé’s hastily smothered giggle from behind them.

“Perhaps another time,” Padmé said, and finished her juice. “Thank you for indulging me, Jedi Kenobi,” she smiled up at him.

“Call me Obi-Wan,” he offered, and her smile widened.

“Obi-Wan,” she agreed, and lifted herself on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. Obi-Wan held in the gasp that wanted to escape and kept his fingers from reaching for the place she’d touched. Her simple kiss seemed to burn far hotter than it should.

“And you can call me Padmé, but perhaps not in public,” she said. Obi-Wan nodded. Padmé glanced over her shoulder. “I should go at least greet the Chancellor,” she said, a sigh in her tone. “We shouldn’t wait so long until the next time.”

“No, of course not,” he said. “I’ll give your greetings to Anakin?”

Padmé’s attention to returned to him. “Oh, how thoughtless of me. Of course, tell Anakin I said hello. How is he?”

“He’s fine,” Obi-Wan told her, and gave her a brief overview of the boy’s training. Padmé gave every appearance of interest, but Obi-Wan knew most outsiders found the Jedi system somewhat incomprehensible. “He’ll be glad to hear you’re well.”

Padmé smiled again, and checked Supreme Chancellor Palpatine’s position in the room. “I’m glad. I do have to go, unfortunately,” she said, and this time, when she went up on tiptoe to reach him, Obi-Wan put his hands on her shoulders to steady her and leaned down. He brushed her cheek with his mouth, feeling the overly hot touch of her lips again on his cheek at the same time, and gave her a smile as they separated.

“Thank you for the dance lessons,” he said, and Padmé grinned as she moved off, Sabé at her back. Obi-Wan set his empty glass on a nearby tray and moved back toward the wall. He’d had more fun at the party than he’d expected, but he still had a job to do.

But perhaps another time, he wouldn’t protest too much at party duty. Not if Senator Amidala was also going to attend.

**Author's Note:**

> Asogians are the official Star Wars name for E.T.'s race.


End file.
